


my time is a little unclear

by bropunzeling



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Groundhog Day, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-13
Updated: 2014-03-13
Packaged: 2018-01-15 15:05:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1309240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bropunzeling/pseuds/bropunzeling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paul always fucking hated that Bill Murray movie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	my time is a little unclear

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nebulia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nebulia/gifts).



> for neb, because she deserves nice things. based off a snippet written for tumblr, but i added about 1k and extra kissing. unbeta'd. title from ben howard's "the fear".

_day two_

Paul wakes up to the sound of his alarm not going off.

It was supposed to. He has his meeting with Shero and Bylsma today about his contract — he made the final decision last night, after talking to his parents and to Sarah. He’s going to re-sign, stay in Pittsburgh until 2016, but that can’t happen until he goes in for his meeting, which is why his alarm should’ve gone off.

He looks at his phone, double checking, and then stares at the date. Which is yesterday.

His front door opens — like it did yesterday, because James came over for breakfast, just like he always does, and Paul sits up and rubs his face in his hands. Shit.

When he stumbles downstairs, U of M sweatpants low on his hips and yesterday’s t-shirt over his shoulders, he finds James in his kitchen, rooting around in his fridge. Paul coughs, and James turns and smiles.

“Paulie,” he says, drawing out the “e”. “You should make me breakfast.”

“No wonder G calls you lazy,” Paul snipes back, grabbing the carton of eggs and bag of grated cheddar cheese.

James chatters as Paul makes the exact same thing he did yesterday – omelets with cheddar and green onion – and turns on the coffeemaker. Maybe, he thinks, if he does the exact same thing, this’ll end, like one of those dreams that feels real when you’re in it.

He makes breakfast, pours himself a mug of black coffee and doctors James’ with appropriate amounts of sugar and cream. When he sets down James’ mug, James smiles at him and asks, “You ready for tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Paul says with feeling.

The rest of the day passes by rote, conversations eerily familiar. James stays until just after dinner, and Paul’s parents call precisely at nine, and Paul spends the entire time wondering if he’ll wake up to his alarm or not.

Just before he falls asleep, he writes, _I’m staying with Pittsburgh_ on his phone. When he shuts his eyes, it’s the first time he’s ever really hoped for his alarm to go off.

-

_day three_

He wakes up to silence. When he checks his phone, the note is gone.

-

_day six_

After he wakes up to the sun slanting across his face exactly like it did the day before, and the day before that, and the day before that, he gives up on writing notes and tries calling home early. His mother answers, voice muffled through the phone and her yawns.

"Honey, we can call you later," his mom says carefully, the roundness of her vowels another familiar thing in a long list of repeats. "Do you really want to talk to us right now?"

"Yes," Paul says, because, he thinks hysterically, maybe doing this will mean he can finally get out of this fucking time loop.

"I don’t think you make the best decisions in the morning, dear," Beth replies. “We’ll talk to you later, alright? Don’t forget to call your sister.” Then she hangs up on him, leaving Paul staring at his phone.

The front door opens. Paul swings his legs out of bed and gets up.

-

_day twelve_

It’s been almost two weeks when James kisses him.

The day starts the same way, the slant of sunlight through Paul’s window forcing Paul awake and out of bed. When James comes over, Paul’s already at the stove, starting the coffee grinder and looking at the too familiar blue of the sky. James chatters as he goes, talking about everything and nothing, and it somehow manages to be soothing instead of irritating.

He doesn’t know how it happens. One second, he’s doing what he always does – making eggs, same as always, coffee percolating, same as always, but between him flipping omelets and saying “sure” to whatever James is babbling about, something shifts. 

When he looks up from the frying pan, James has walked around the counter. For a second, he stares at Paul, and then he makes a noise and leans in.

It’s dry and hard, all pressure as James pushes forward, Paul too shocked to kiss back. They’re both barefoot, Paul’s sweatpants slipping off his hips. James’ hands grip at Paul’s shoulders, tight enough to bruise.

"Stay," James mumbles as he breaks away, sounding hysterical, "Paulie, you have to stay, okay, you have to."

"I don’t," Paul replies, blinking. He hasn’t thought about this. He doesn’t know how this works. "James —"

At the sound of his name, James startles, stepping back. “I,” he starts, face flushing. “I’m going to — I — sorry, I —” he stutters, backing up until he hits the counter. After a few seconds, he turns, goes down the stairs to the front door. The slam of the door as he leaves reminds Paul that he didn’t say anything back, didn’t say anything at all.

He hadn’t finished his eggs. Paul leans against the counter and stares at James’ plate, stares and tries to process what just happened. 

For such a shit kiss, his lips are buzzing.

-

_day seventeen_

This time, when he calls Sarah, he says, “I’m thinking of asking for a trade.”

Sarah sighs into the phone. “Going to tell me why?”

Paul thinks about saying, “Because maybe if I change my mind I can leave this fucking time loop.” He doesn’t.

“I just – maybe a change would be good for me,” he says instead, leaning against the kitchen counter. James left his house about an hour ago, eating his eggs quietly before saying thanks and heading off to – wherever it is he goes, when he’s not hanging around Paul’s house.

“You sure? Don’t rush into anything,” Sarah cautions.

“Yes,” Paul replies, and he’s only lying a little.

“Okay,” Sarah says, voice crackling over the line. “Only if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” Paul says, and he hopes that maybe this time meaning it will count for something.

-

_day eighteen_

Paul wakes up to silence and the same slant of sunlight.

He always fucking hated that Bill Murray movie.

-

_day twenty-three_

Paul tries every fucking thing he can think of. He calls his parents; he doesn’t call his parents. He calls Sarah; he doesn’t call Sarah. He decides to re-sign; he decides to take the trade. It doesn’t matter though – every morning is the same, waking up to no alarm and an ever-growing sense of resigned hopelessness. 

On day twenty-whatever, he decides to try not letting James in. He sits on his bed and texts him, _not feeling up for breakfast today. sorry_

James texts him back fifteen minutes later. _:(((_

It doesn’t change anything. Paul’s day is still long and boring and full of phone conversations he fully expects to repeat tomorrow. The only difference is that when he makes breakfast for one, his chest tightens painfully. He doesn’t try it again.

-

_day twenty-eight_

James tries to kiss him again.

Paul plays dumb, turns his face away, goes back to watching coffee brew and doesn’t think about the way he’s gripping the hem of his t-shirt. James doesn’t say anything, just goes back to his eggs. 

After James finishes, he gets up and leaves straight away, not even trying to stick around and play video games or watch his stupid TV shows. It’s weird – Paul doesn’t really know what to do with himself, so he putters around the kitchen, picking things up and putting them down, absently scrubbing the counters. When he finally gives up and sits to watch an old Twins game, it doesn’t feel the same without James judging his hometown loyalties, taking up space on the couch and sticking his feet in Paul’s lap.

He’s still not sure how to process the idea of James wanting him, thinking he’s important, asking him to stay, wide-eyed and desperate. It makes something clench under his ribcage, tight and sore.

If Paul leaves, he won’t have this, the easy comfort of mornings in his kitchen, James messy-haired and enthusiastic as he fills up the corners of Paul’s house. He won’t have this, but if he stays, he still might not, because now he knows what it is to kiss James Neal, and it’s a thing he can’t easily forget.

-

_day thirty-three_

This morning, he wakes up and dials his sister’s number.

“Sarah,” he says, carefully.

“What?” Sarah asks, sounding sleepy. 

“Sarah,” Paul repeats, laying on his bed and staring at the ceiling. “What would you say if I told you there’s someone – someone I might want to be with?”

“In Pittsburgh?” Sarah asks, and Paul hums in response. “Do I get to know who?”

“I –“ Paul starts, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “I mean, nothing’s – nothing’s confirmed, so.”

“Is it that one you feed all the time – James, right?” Paul’s silence must confirm it, because Sarah makes a sympathetic noise. “Have you talked to him about it?”

“I – I’m going to,” Paul replies. “I just – I don’t know if that’s enough to keep me here.”

“You seem to like it there anyways,” Sarah says through a yawn. “That’s what you’re always saying – and if there is that possibility, well. I’d rather see you happy than at home.”

“Oh,” Paul says, and then he hears the front door open, James calling up the stairs. “Sarah, I gotta go –“

“I know, go feed your James,” Sarah says easily. “Try talking to him, yeah?”

“I, yeah,” Paul says.

“Okay. Love you, I’m gonna sleep more, bye,” Sarah finishes, and then hangs up on him.

Paul walks downstairs to find James rooting around in his fridge, hair messy and sticking up. “Oh hey,” James says, turning to look at Paul over his shoulder. “I thought I could start breakfast, but also I’m super bad at figuring out your fridge, so. Eggs?”

“Go sit,” Paul says, unable to keep the fucking fondness out of his voice. “I’ll make your eggs.”

“You’re the best,” James says happily, smiling at Paul. “No, seriously, you’re the greatest,” and now would be the time, wouldn’t it. Paul should say something, should do something.

Instead he turns back to the fridge, pulling out the carton and the bag of shredded cheese. He still doesn’t know how to put this into words, doesn’t know what to say yet, so he starts up the coffee maker and breaks eggs into mixing bowls and lets James chatter at him.

After all, if nothing else, he’s still got time.

-

_day thirty-five_

It’s been a month, or more than. Paul has no idea how to get out of this. He’s tired of waiting on tenterhooks for his life to move forward, tired of making the same eggs and coffee every morning.

Today, the latest in a long string of todays, James stays all day, playing video games and watching his favorite trashy shows and bullying Paul into ordering pizza. “I want pepperoni,” he whines in Paul’s ear, and Paul rolls his eyes but orders it anyways. 

The pizza arrives and they eat it sitting on Paul’s couch, James calling dibs on the remote and immediately switching to TLC.

“Ugh,” Paul groans, but James just makes doe eyes at him.

“Come on, Paulie, don’t you want to watch this girl have a meltdown?” he says, shoving at Paul’s legs until he can stick his feet in Paul’s lap.

“Not really,” Paul replies, but he doesn’t make James change it, just watches some girl learn about everything she’s ever done wrong with her wardrobe while James stretches out easily. After a few minutes, he has a hand resting on James’ ankle and rubbing at the bone, the weight of James holding him down.

It’s grounding, makes Paul feel tethered to Pittsburgh, to this house and to him and James in it. He finds he doesn’t mind.

"Listen," he says, turning to look at James. "What do you think about me re-signing?"

James blinks, looks away from the screen and stares at Paul. “I mean,” he hedges, “I don’t want you to go. I thought you knew that.”

"Oh," Paul says, because, well, yes, he figured, but. There’s still things Paul doesn’t know. "Why?"

James looks cornered, glancing around the room as he sits up. “I,” he says, stalling. The tops of his cheeks are flushed. “I want _you_ — here,” he finishes lamely, voice dropping off.

"Oh,” Paul says. He’s staring, he knows he is, but it’s hard to look away from James, to stop staring at the red in his cheeks and the way his eyes widen. “You – you want me to stay?”

James stares at him, wide-eyed. “Paulie,” he starts, then stops. He licks his lips, and Paul watches him do it, glancing up to find James staring at him. “I – I want that, I want you here, with me.”

“Oh,” Paul says again. He can’t seem to look away from James. “Because, uh, if you want me to stay, I’ll stay."

"I," James stutters, leaning forward. "I really want you to stay."

"Then,” Paul replies, certainty curling in his gut even as his heartbeat kicks in his ears, “I’ll stay.”

For a second, James does nothing – but then he’s scrambling across the couch, and Paul suddenly has a lapful of hockey player grabbing at his shoulders and kissing him. “Paulie,” he says into Paul’s lips, hands scrabbling up and down Paul’s back as Paul gets a hand in James’ hair, the other reaching up under James’ t-shirt to feel the warmth of his shoulders.

“I’m here,” Paul says, can’t think of anything else to say. He runs his hand along James’ spine, kisses at the pulse thudding in James’ throat. “James.”

“Paulie, you –“ James says again, voice cracking, and then he gives up on talking. Instead he kisses Paul hard enough to bruise, all pressure, like he’s afraid Paul will disappear.

“Yeah,” Paul murmurs, holding onto James, feeling the weight and warmth of him, the planes of his back and the softness of his hair under his hands. “I’m not going anywhere.”

-

_day one_

Paul wakes up to his phone alarm blaring obnoxiously, reminding him that he has a meeting in two hours. Somewhere around his shoulder, James groans.

"Sorry," Paul whispers, pressing a quick kiss to James’s hair before trying to extract himself.

James clings, arms wrapping around Paul’s waist. ”Don’t,” he mumbles. “You said you’d stay.”

Paul smiles. “I’m staying,” he says, and it’s the surest thing he knows.


End file.
